


the wind breathing.

by katarama



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, College, Day At The Beach, Day Off, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Lighthouses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-09 14:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8893537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: “I have a surprise,” Stiles says, and Scott braces himself for an ‘I found a dead body’ or a ‘Lydia found a dead body’.  Or even a ‘we’re going back to Beacon Hills for the weekend, because Liam found a dead body’, because that is definitely a thing that has happened before.“Bring a jacket."





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompts: future college fic + nose kisses + running away to the beach for a day and ignoring all their homework + fluff

When Scott jolts awake that morning, Stiles’ hand on his arm, Scott worries that he slept through his alarm, after a late night of trudging through readings for his chem class.  He doesn’t know what possessed him to sign up for 8:30 AM chemistry on a Friday morning, but he does know that, werewolf hearing or not, his alarm never seems loud enough to be worth dragging himself out of bed to turn it off and get ready.

It takes another moment of looking around for him to realize that it is slightly darker than he’s used to, and after flipping through his phone, he realizes that his alarm hasn’t actually gone off yet.  It takes another moment to process the fact that Stiles is actually up and fully dressed and alert already, which should be suspicious in and of itself this early in the morning.

“I have a surprise,” Stiles says, and Scott braces himself for an ‘I found a dead body’ or a ‘Lydia found a dead body’.  Or even a ‘we’re going back to Beacon Hills for the weekend, because Liam found a dead body’, because that is definitely a thing that has happened before.

“Bring a jacket,” Stiles says, though he refuses to tell Scott why.  Scott would have brought one, anyway; UC Davis is further south than Beacon Hills, but it’s still in Northern California, and it’s far from warm and toasty in the early morning.  He obeys, abandoning his book bag with his chem books and dressing in warm boots, grabbing his lined jean jacket. 

He watches Stiles stand in front of the fridge, a small cooler in his hand and a small box of Ziploc baggies in the other, as if deciding whether to make lunches is worth it.  That in and of itself is a sign to Scott that he’s definitely not heading to chem class that morning.  He figures he’ll have to get notes from Lydia later, but he isn’t too broken up about missing one class.  He’s been good so far this semester, barely missing at all, and they’re almost to Thanksgiving break.

Stiles passes up on making lunches and puts music on in the jeep.  They stop to get coffee for the road.  His brain only half-awake, Scott takes a while to realize that they are headed in the opposite direction from home, taking the highway headed down southwest.  It isn’t until Scott realizes that Stiles’ GPS is directing them towards the Bay Area that he finally starts to relax, letting the Stiles’ music wash over him, familiar, if not soothing.

“Not a supernatural crisis?” Scott asks.

“I thought you could use a break,” Stiles admits.  “You’ve been working so hard this semester.  And I know that it isn’t beach weather unless you drive all the way down to SoCal, and I don’t think either of us is up for that trip.  But I thought some, you know.  Fresh air, and stuff.  Might do us both some good.”

It’s hard to feel claustrophobic on a college campus, after how Beacon Hills was.  Small town, small school, everyone in everyone’s business.  But Scott can’t help but admit that he has been pretty stressed and pretty cramped lately.  He’s missed the woods and the smell of the preserve, the way it’s never been his home but has smelled like comfort, since he was turned.  And the Bay Area isn’t home, and it isn’t the woods, but fresh air does sound appealing.  

He knows Stiles isn’t the most nature-y kind of guy.  So when they don’t go into San Francisco, but instead Stiles veers right, driving around the Bay approaching a giant green blob on his map labeled as a nature reserve, Scott is genuinely surprised and a little bit warm inside.

“I got caught up in a wikiwalk about lighthouses at 3 AM last week,” is all the explanation Stiles gives as they pull into Point Reyes National Seashore.  It’s enough to tell Scott that the name isn’t coincidental, and Scott gives Stiles a warm, encouraging smile.

They drive as close to as they can before having to get out and walk.  The walk from the parking lot to the visitor’s center takes about fifteen minutes, and without even being entirely sure of where they’re going, Scott is sure that it’s near the ocean.  He can smell the salt in the air, can feel the way the breeze is cold against his face.  Stiles burrows his hands into the sleeves of his hoodie and sticks them in the pocket in the front, and Scott wraps an arm around him, pulling him close.

Scott can pinpoint the moment when he sees the lighthouse in the distance.  It’s small, a pop of white and red tucked into the curve of jagged rock.  “It’s one of the few in the area you can actually go in and check out,” Stiles offers.  “Which I thought was like.  Way cooler than doing nothing at the beach.  Plus, like.  Lighthouse, beacon…”

“You’re terrible,” Scott says fondly.  He kisses Stiles on the side of his head.  “That was a terrible analogy.”

“The closest we could get to home without actually driving there ourselves,” Stiles continues, a grin on his face.  “Now all we need is a minor werewolf attack and we’re set.”

“Please don’t jinx us on our day off,” Scott groans, and Stiles’ loud laugh rings in the open air.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe you made me go down all  _ three hundred _ of those stairs,” Stiles complains.  His cheeks are still flushed and blotchy, his blush hugging the curve of his jawbone.  Scott wants to press a small kiss there, where the patches of red almost obscure his moles.  “I can’t believe you’re going to make me go back  _ up _ three hundred of those stairs.”

“Three hundred eight, technically.  And this was your idea,” Scott reminds him, because, well.

It totally was.

It was a great one, though.  And yeah, three hundred eight stairs ended up feeling like a lot more than Scott expected.  But it takes long enough to explore the visitor’s center and to make their way down the concrete stairs, Stiles gripping the railing intently the entire way down, that when they arrive at the bottom, the lighthouse itself is already open.  They’re allowed to see the lens and to look around, and they get a beautiful view of the water in a way they don’t get in the landlocked Beacon Hills.  

Scott and Stiles stand there and look out at the water all around them for a moment.  It’s clear and blue, the wind an occasional light breeze off the water.  The sun is out, warming them up enough that Scott has been considering shedding his jacket before making his way back up the stairs.  There’s no sound but the quiet lapping of the water against the rock and the occasional noise of seagulls, the quiet chatter of the other tourists as their conversations echo down from the stairs above them.

It’s peaceful.  It’s calm and quiet, all of Scott’s school stresses forgotten, and Scott finds himself moving his hand over to intertwine his fingers with Stiles’.

“Thank you for this,” Scott says.  “I didn’t know I needed it until I had it.”

“I know,” Stiles says.  He tugs Scott closer, turning him so Scott is looking up at Stiles’ face instead of out at the water.  “That’s what I’m here for.  I wasn’t always the best at it before, but I know better, now.  That’s what we do for each other.”

“Yeah,” Scott says softly.  “I love you.”

Stiles squeezes his hand, leaning down and giving Scott the softest peck on the tip of his nose.  “Would a loving werewolf boyfriend like you be willing to carry me up all those stairs?” he jokes, his eyes bright.

Scott looks back up at the 308 stairs looping their way up through the cliff side and back up to the visitor’s center.

“Maybe if you give me a real kiss,” Scott teases back, his dimples making an appearance.  Stiles laughs and leans down again, giving Scott a longer kiss, his lips warm and soft and just a little bit chapped from the cool air and Stiles' teeth.

“I love you too,” Stiles whispers into Scott’s ear when Scott’s lifted him up, Stiles’ legs secured around Scott’s hips.  

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](http://sleepy-skittles.tumblr.com).


End file.
